


take a break

by anticupid16



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-30 18:11:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12658767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anticupid16/pseuds/anticupid16
Summary: Stiles, needing a break from his dad's lack of trust, decides to take shelter somewhere he can chill without being asked a lot of questions. Derek's loft just so happens to be such a place.





	take a break

**Author's Note:**

  * For [clotpolesonly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/clotpolesonly/gifts).



Stiles had agreed to his father’s request that he stay local for college. It was cheaper, kept him near Scott and the gang, and it wasn’t a totally unreasonable request… Except for the real reason his dad had asked him to stay.

It came out one night over dinner, after the sheriff had asked Stiles what he’d been up to all day. And the night before. And really, the whole week. Stiles had, as usual, played down exactly how much danger he’d gotten into. After all, he didn’t want his dad to start giving him guns for Christmas again. (Admittedly, it was only the one Christmas after he moved into the dorms for a brief year. Stiles had fired the gun exactly once, since it was about as useful as a baseball bat against the biggest threats they faced. He did sometimes still carry it.) Unfortunately, tonight was the night that Stiles’ dad slammed his fork down on the table and leveled a glare at his son.

“Stiles, I’ve had enough of this. I want to hear from Scott that this week’s battle ended up a non-starter, because I don’t believe you. Think I haven’t heard enough of your lies? You’re constantly lying to me, and I’m sick of it.”

Maybe Stiles could have taken this moment to have a deep heart to heart with his father about the real fear he’d been struggling with all week—the kind of fear that made his hands shake and food taste like air. Instead, after the adrenaline crash he’d experienced that afternoon following their encounter with an angry, semi-territorial Omega, Stiles really didn’t have a reasonable bone left in his body. In the moment, he snapped.

“Why the hell does Scott have to back up my story every time I tell it to you? It’s bad enough that you act like you’re entitled to knowing all the goings-on in the pack. You’re not even part of it!”

“Neither are you,” his dad retorted, raising his voice in a warning. “Stiles, you have to be more careful! If you get hurt, and you can’t get to Melissa—”

“I’ve survived this long, haven’t I? Clearly I know what I’m doing!”

“You’re a kid, Stiles, you can’t possibly know what you’re doing!”

“I believe that legally, being twenty-one makes you an adult in this country.”

“Then start acting like one!” The sheriff actually stood up from the table as he said this, looming over Stiles as though he were a kid again. “Stop lying to me, or covering up the truth, or whatever you’re calling it now.”

That was the last word in the argument, because Stiles had stopped listening. His father continued to yell while Stiles walked up the stairs to his room, and started throwing whatever clothes he could reach into a duffle bag from under his bed. Stiles moved faster when he heard his dad’s tread on the stairs and his voice getting louder, and was zipping the bag up over his laptop and a couple of textbooks when the sheriff finally slammed open his door.

“I swear to god--! Stiles?” The question in his dad’s voice made Stiles pause before turning around. His dad looked stunned, and for a second Stiles thought that maybe, just maybe, they were going to be able to defuse the fight. But then his dad’s eyes hardened and he waved his hand towards the front door.

“Yeah, go ahead. Tell Scott to keep you out of danger for once.”

Stiles pushed past his father, not even taking the time to remind him to eat healthy while he was gone. If his dad thought that he couldn’t trust him, then he could go ahead and drive his cholesterol up and give himself something more important to worry about.

It wasn’t until Stiles was halfway down Scott’s street that he realized he didn’t really want to stay with Scott, either. He already knew how that visit would end: Scott and Melissa would sit Stiles down and tell him all the really good reasons that his father had for being worried, and he’d have to agree with them. Then, Melissa would find some reason to invite the sheriff over so that he and Stiles could have a heart-to-heart. Things would be all right for a month or so, then the next time a big dangerous creature decided to pick a fight with Scott Stiles would be back to exhausting all the old fights he’d already had with his dad.

So Stiles sailed right on past the McCalls’ place and started to brainstorm where else he could stay. Lydia probably had the space and she was home for the rest of the summer, but that was really only temporary and Stiles wasn’t sure how long this fight was going to last. Also, Lydia would want to solve things or talk about what had happened and Stiles just wanted a break. 

Somewhere along that train of thought, Stiles found himself considering going to Derek’s place. After all, he had a perfectly good guest room that had been offered up on a couple of occasions such as when Malia had wanted another crack at the “mixing wolfsbane with alcohol” trick or whenever somebody was injured and didn’t want to explain to somebody else what had happened (okay, yes, three of those four times it had been Stiles, he could see his father’s point a little bit now). 

By the time Stiles was pulling up outside Derek’s place, he’d already rehearsed the answers to any questions Derek might pose. Why was he there? He and his dad needed some space. Was he going to be loud and obnoxious? No man, he’d be quiet as a mouse, although Derek could still hear mice so he’d still hear Stiles when he did stuff like sneezed or talked. He’d pitch in for food, probably not bills, but maybe other stuff like cleaning supplies or laundry detergent, those kinds of necessities. 

Stiles was one knock in when the door swung open to Derek’s loft. “Stiles.” 

“Derek, hey how’s it going, mind if I crash here for--” 

“Sure.” 

“I’m sorry, what?” 

Derek was already moving back out of the doorway to his loft, and gestured for Stiles to come inside. While his brain short-circuited just a little bit, Stiles at least managed to shuffle inside. Derek closed the door behind him, and Stiles looked around the loft. 

“So you’re just going to let me stay here?” 

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” Derek countered. Of course, Stiles couldn’t deny that but...why was this so easy? But now, Derek was moving and gesturing and Stiles had to start listening. 

“...some food in the fridge, feel free to buy whatever you want and keep it stocked. Appliances are all standard. You already know where the guest room is, and the guest bathroom I assume. Should have fresh towels and linens. There’s a laundry closet right here,” Derek rapped on a closet-like door off the side of the kitchen that Stiles had always assumed was a pantry. “Since you don’t have to feed it quarters, try to not smell like Cheetos and sweat all the time.” 

“I’ll have you know that my preferred cheesy snack is Doritos, first of all,” Stiles rebuffed. Derek rolled his eyes and started to talk over him about the TV and surround sound. That was more like the Derek-Stiles banter he knew and loved. 

“There. Tour over. Can I get back to what I was doing?” Derek asked, gesturing to the couch by the windows where a book was lying face down. Stiles leaned over the back of the couch to catch sight of the title. 

“Are you reading Jane Austen?” Stiles asked, unable to keep from snickering. “Trying to discover some emotions outside of the grumpy, eh Sourwolf?” 

Derek moved around the couch and shoved Stiles’ shoulder. It was just enough force to make Stiles stumble back, but not enough to actually hurt. Boy, things had changed since the days Derek would threaten to kill Stiles if now all he could muster was vague annoyance. 

“There’s a bookshelf in the guest room,” Derek called over his shoulder as Stiles turned towards it with his duffle bag over his shoulder. “Maybe you can pick up something other than Brooks or Pratchett and learn something yourself.” 

Stiles snorted; he was quite happy leaving the days of literary analysis behind him in favor of forensic sciences. If he was going to be reading anything that summer, it would be articles by the professors he had the coming semester, or maybe he’d scroll through some databases and look for interesting future thesis topics. He certainly didn’t plan to spend an evening being swept along the moors with Cathy and Heathcliff (Lydia had helped him with Wuthering Heights during high school, and he still cherished those memories of studying with her). 

Stiles emerged no less than two minutes after dropping his bag in the guest room and pulling his laptop out. “Wifi?” he asked Derek. 

“Router is beside the TV, password is on it.” 

Derek looked extremely absorbed in reading his novel. While Stiles waited for the--frankly appalling--low speed wifi to register on his laptop, he watched Derek flip a page. He looked utterly focused, and also the least intimidating that somebody with the build of Derek Hale, Werewolf Extraordinaire could be at any time. Well, maybe if it were cold outside and he also had a fluffy blanket on his shoulders and a cup of hot cocoa he’d be even less intimidating. But the point was that Derek was slightly hunched over the book in concentration, one leg bent on the couch cushion and his elbow leaning against the back of the couch. He looked casual and relaxed, and Stiles couldn’t honestly remember seeing Derek so...peaceful before. 

There hadn’t been a lot of tension between Derek and the Scott Pack in a while. They’d made peace, stopped accusing him of murder every time, and let him go off on his one for a couple years. Still, though, he was more and more like that distant relative that, when they show up for the reunion, seems like the missing link in the family but aren’t missed when they leave again. 

Stiles quietly walked back to the guest room, armed with the Internet, and tried not to disturb Derek for a little bit. If he wanted to read in peace, then Stiles would let him. Which meant that for the first week Stiles spent at Derek’s loft, they fell into a routine. Stiles woke up mid-morning to find Derek was already up, armed with coffee, and reading on the couch. There was usually something left over from what Derek made for breakfast, and Stiles would warm it up with minimal noise and eat in the kitchen, reading the news on his phone. At lunch, Stiles usually beat Derek at being hungry, so he’d fix something like a sandwich and hand a plate to Derek when he walked in, book in hand. There’d be some mild banter over their food, mostly Stiles teasing Derek about learning emotions from Jane Austen (after finishing Persuasion two days into Stiles’ visit, Derek started Northanger Abbey) and Derek raising his eyebrows to great effect. 

However, when Saturday rolled around and Derek was still working his way through classic literature for hours at a time, Stiles found himself restless and bored. He’d worked his way through YouTube but didn’t have the patience for anything over three minutes long. He couldn’t stay interested in any online games or quizzes, and even his old standby of random Wikipedia articles wasn’t cutting it. So he wandered out into the living room and leaned over Derek’s couch. Derek didn’t react behind his eyes flicking up at Stiles, then back down to the page in front of him. 

“I’m bored,” Stiles complained, using his best whining voice for optimal annoyance. 

“Hi bored, I’m Derek.” 

“Wow that is the ultimate dad joke.”

“Stiles, what do you want?” 

“I’m bored. And I can’t look at a computer screen another second. And there’s nothing on TV.” 

“You haven’t even turned on the TV today.” 

“I checked the TV guide online. Nothing good.” 

Derek sighed, dog earing the page he was on and shutting the book to glare up at Stiles. “I’m not your cruise director, Stiles.” 

“But I’m bored!” 

“So you’ve said.” Derek shook his head and reached under the coffee table, pulling out Persuasion and tossing it towards Stiles, who just barely managed to catch it. “Maybe that’ll help.” 

“Ugh.” But Stiles was just bored enough to try it. He plopped down on the couch next to Derek, and started to read. Three hours later, when Derek quietly asked if he wanted to order pizza, Stiles mumbled a yes, and kept reading. A little part of his brain was irritated that this had worked, and told him he had to be super annoying to Derek from now on, but even through the pizza, he and Derek kept reading on the couch. 

Stiles finally stopped when he checked his watch and saw it was after midnight. He closed the book--he was almost finished anyways--and stretched, looking over at Derek. Who of course had a smug grin on his face as he, too, closed his book. 

“Don’t give me that look,” Stiles grumbled. 

“What look?” 

“The look of superiority that you always give Scott when you were right about something.”

“I don’t think that’s a look.” 

“You know what I mean!” Stiles reached for the nearest pillow and tossed it lightly at Derek’s face, only further irritated when the stupid werewolf caught it. 

“Wow, how old are you, ten?” Derek beaned the pillow at Stiles, who just managed to duck under it. Or maybe Derek had been purposely holding back to Stiles could even have a chance. Either way, it meant war. 

Stiles picked up the two books between them, ceremoniously placed them on the table, then launched himself at Derek in hopes that such a forward attack would catch him off guard. It did, but unluckily for him, this also meant that Derek had to retaliate. Which is how he found himself on his stomach on the floor, Derek’s elbow in his back, and having his feet tickled like he was seven. 

“Stop! Please!” Stiles wheezed between laughter and gasps for air. 

“Stop calling me sourwolf,” Derek countered in a mocking tone. 

“Fine, fine! I’ll stop using the most accurate nickname in the world.” At first, Stiles feared Derek wasn’t going to let up because of that quip, but slowly he was released and allowed to catch his breath. Stiles stayed with his cheek pressed to the hardwood floor of the living room for just another minute before turning over. Derek hadn’t moved, just sitting cross-legged beside him with a small smile. 

“Wow, I think that’s the first time I’ve seen you actually smile,” Stiles commented. For a second Derek’s face flickered, as if he were now aware of the smile and didn’t want it to happen again. Without thinking, Stiles reached out and laid his fingers across Derek’s wrist. “Hey, always a good sign. Smiles are good, frowns are bad. Remember?” 

Derek just raised an eyebrow, but if anything his smile got a little bit wider. Which made Stiles grin back, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. 

The next afternoon, Stiles noticed that Derek had been off the couch for a while when he did finish his own book. He also realized something smelled really good, like better than pizza. 

“Are you baking?” he asked incredulously from the doorway of the kitchen. Derek looked up from where he was reading, leaning against the counter. 

“It’s just some bread pudding cups.” 

“Just? Bread pudding? Cups?!” 

“Stiles, the bread that’s been sitting on the counter was going to be too stale to eat soon. So, I decided to make bread pudding cups.” 

“I don’t think you know exactly how insane it is to hear Derek Hale saying those words.” 

“Yes, well,” Derek shrugged and closed his book. Then, he leaned over to look through the window of the oven door to check on the bread pudding and his shirt rode up just a little bit in the back. Stiles glanced away, suddenly feeling like an intruder. It was no secret that after he’d gotten over his probably unhealthy and obsessive love of Lydia, Stiles had realized he was surrounded by several incredibly attractive werewolves. And yeah, he’d on occasion checked out Derek’s ass or something. But the same could be said of Scott, and Malia, and hell even Cora. 

Then again, Stiles had never actually lived with someone so painfully attractive and unattainable. When Derek straightened up and turned to face him, Stiles found himself fighting the urge to give some sort of explanation. 

“You all right there?” 

“Uh, yeah, just dealing with the world view change that comes from finding out you make bread pudding in cup form.”

Bread pudding cups became a thing after that. Partly because the first one Stiles tried had been so delicious (indecent moaning was involved) that he’d eaten at least half of them in a day, and partly because he’d gone out and bought two day-old baguettes for fifty cents each and presented them to Derek with big puppy eyes as a way of asking for more. 

It was during the second week of bread pudding cups (yes Stiles was keeping track of time through baked goods, sue him, they were delicious) that Stiles received a very angry phone call from Scott. 

“Your dad has no idea where you are, did you know that?” Scott shouted into Stiles’ ear. Stiles winced and jerked away from the hand holding his phone, waving off Derek when he tried to ask what was going on. 

“Scott, dude, slow down--” 

“He thought you were over here this whole time, and he showed up today to apologize. When did you run away from home?”

“Okay, I’m a legal adult, I don’t think it can be called running away from home. Also, how did it take like a month for anybody to realize I wasn’t at my dad’s house? I’m a little offended. Do you know how easy it would be for me to get kidnapped?” 

“Where the hell are you?” Stiles sighed and rolled his eyes. 

“I’m at Derek’s place. Which is where I’ve been this whole time. I just needed some space from my dad.” 

“And from me apparently.” 

“Scott, are you really making this about you?” There was a pause and then Scott answered with an apologetic note in his voice. 

“Sorry. You’re right, I was just…”

“It’s cool. I’m sorry I didn’t think to tell you I was staying with Derek. Honestly, I’m surprised there hasn’t been a reason for a big monster hunting planning session over here at the loft.”

“Well, I’m glad I can tell your dad you’re safe now. He was pretty freaked at first.”

“Oh yeah, so freaked. He didn’t even call me, Scott.” Scott made a noise, and Stiles groaned. “You have him right there, huh? Put him on.”

“Stiles, I--” 

“Put my dad on the phone Scott.” Stiles overheard some muttering, listened to the static on the other end as the phone shifted hands. “Dad?” 

“Stiles. You’re safe?” 

“Yeah. I went to Derek’s place.” 

“Derek Hale?” 

“No, Derek Dorpinhouse, yes Derek Hale.” 

“I’m sorry kid. I know that I was being unfair. I just worry about you.” 

“Dad, I can’t keep dealing with you not trusting me. I was thinking that if Derek lets me stay, I might move in here for a little bit.” As he said this, Derek looked up from his book in surprise, and Stiles grimaced. Probably should have asked Derek about that first.

“Fine by me,” Derek said quietly before going back to his book. Stiles may or may not have fist pumped. Derek may or may not have snorted at him. 

“Stiles, I… I can understand you needing some space, but just like this?” 

“Dad, I promise, I’ll come over for dinner or something. I can’t really talk right now though, is it all right if I call you back?” 

“Stiles, come on,” but Stiles was already hitting end. 

“Did you just hang up on your father?” Stiles shrugged and put his phone on “do not disturb” before sticking it in the pocket of his jeans. 

“Thanks for letting me spring that on you, the whole staying here a little longer thing. I just don’t want to deal with my dad right now.” 

“Again, it’s fine. But you have to buy the next round of baguettes. And pizza tonight.” 

Later, when Stiles had convinced Derek to put his book down and watch a crappy horror movie on Netflix with him over pizza, Derek brought the subject up again. 

Stiles wasn’t really in the mood to discuss the complexities of trying to keep his father from being psychologically traumatized by the knowledge that his son was constantly engaged in dangerous fights with supernatural creatures. “He just needs to learn to trust me, okay?” 

“How can he trust you if you never trust him?” Stiles laughed around the pizza crust he was trying to finish off. 

“We’re going to end up in a cycle of who trusts or doesn’t trust the other, and that will just lead to another full scale argument. Not doing anything until either one of us dies or I actually move out of his house? Sounds pretty good to me.” 

“You don’t consider this actually moving out?” Something in Derek’s tone made him look up. Did Derek Hale look disappointed? 

“I mean, eventually the steam will die down. School starts in August, right? I’m sure you’re going to get tired of having me around after the third or fourth all-nighter. Plus, you keep talking about how much I eat, and really that’s not going to get any better.” 

“I was just joking,” Derek said, shifting as if he were going to get up. 

“Hey no, wait, we’re still watching the movie! Derek, what’s up man?” 

“Nothing,” Derek shrugged, closing the pizza box and taking it into the kitchen. Stiles sighed and followed along after him. 

“Hey, I’m really enjoying being here Derek. You know that, right? You’re easily the chillest roommate in the world.” 

“Thanks,” Derek said dryly, turning around and crossing his arms. “Roommate, huh? Does that mean you want to start paying rent?” 

“Derek, what is this about?” Stiles asked, flailing his arms wildly in exasperation. “One minute we’re fine, the next you’re all angry at me. What did I do? Do you want to just be my friend whose guest room I crash in, do you want to be roommates, I mean seriously this is nuts!” 

“So we are friends?” 

Stiles groaned and hit his head on the counter a couple of times. “Ouch, and yes we are friends! I don’t just show up at random people’s places and crash for weeks and eat their bread pudding cups and read their paperback classic literature.” 

“Good.” Derek finished putting the leftover pizza into a plastic bag and shut the box again. “Then you can stay.” 

“I am so confused right now, it’s not even funny.”

“Let’s go finish the movie. Want a beer? I found this good craft beer that makes up for not having an alcoholic effect on werewolves.” 

“You, beer, I, what the hell?” 

“Come on, let’s finish the movie.” And with that Derek put a cold beer into Stiles’ hand and sat down on the couch, leaving Stiles more confused than ever. He pulled his phone out and immediately shot a text to Lydia for clarification. Of course, Stiles also forgot to change the do not disturb setting on his phone so he only saw the response a couple hours and another movie later when he and Derek parted ways for the night. 

There were a series of angry texts from Lydia ranging from calling him an idiot, telling him that he should call his dad back, and a few texts analyzing Derek’s behavior with a range of answers from ‘contemplating your death’ to ‘he probably thinks you’re hot and is trying to deal with that.’ 

All of her suggestions were laughable or horrible so Stiles decided to ignore this for now and just chalk it up as a weird night. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the last time things got weird between he and Derek. 

Two days later, Derek apparently had no clean shirts and had to do laundry shirtless. Stiles offered him a hoodie, but Derek just shrugged it off and continued to lounge on the couch. At one point, Stiles offered to cook breakfast, but found that Derek had just set out some more bread pudding cups and they were, somehow, better than the previous batches. 

Stiles was going insane. He’d called Scott and Lydia a couple of times, asked them exactly how weird Derek was being, and gotten zero helpful answers. But the worst part was, he didn’t want to ruin whatever it was that was going on because he was enjoying it. There was never a moment of the day anymore where he doubted leaving his dad’s place, and in fact he was even working through some of the stress he’d been dealing with over being the only current human in the pack, what he was going to do with his life after his senior year of college, and whether or not he even wanted to stay in Beacon Hills. Somehow, between the bread pudding cups and the books and the pizza and the shirtlessness Derek found the time to also be basically a therapist for Stiles. 

So now Stiles was faced with the fact that either he and Derek were best friends and he had an unfortunate habit of being turned on by said best friend, or there was the even more terrifying idea that there was a chance they’d become more than friends. This was something Lydia kept wanting to bring up and was part of the reason Stiles kept having to leave his phone on do not disturb. 

And then there was the group movie night, where they were only able to convince Scott, Lydia, and Isaac--who was in town to visit Scott--to show up. Scott and Stiles and Derek were crammed onto the couch, Stiles the designated popcorn bowl holder in the middle. “I don’t see why you can’t sit on the floor,” Stiles grumbled to Scott, shifting his shoulders uncomfortably between the two overly warm werewolves. 

“Because I’m the guest, and the guests get first dibs on seats.” 

“Shouldn’t it be whoever actually lives here who gets first dibs?” 

“Well, you’ve only lived here for a little bit so have you even earned dibs?” 

“Derek, can you kick Scott out? I don’t think he’ll listen to me if I do it.” 

“He’s your friend, either you kick him out or you put up with him sitting next to you.” 

“I hate you all.” 

And then Lydia was shushing him, and Scott was throwing popcorn at him and that was the end of that. Instead, it was time for Stiles to become hyperaware of every time his shoulder brushed Derek’s, or his hand nudged Derek’s in the popcorn bowl, or their thighs touched before one of them moved away. Midway through the movie, when the popcorn had run out, Stiles nearly tripped over the coffee table in his relief about having a chance to get up and get away from the close quarters of the couch. 

“Is everything all right?” Stiles jumped out of his skin and turned towards Lydia, who was just smirking as if she had nothing to do with taking twenty years off of Stiles’ life. 

“Lydia, why in god’s name are you standing behind people and whispering in their ears? Have you been spending time with Peter or something?” 

“Stiles, it’s painfully obvious that something weird is going on right now. And I’m pretty sure it’s either you’re remembering the fact that Derek is an attractive young man that you at one point had a crush on or for some reason you’ve decided to be weird around Scott.” 

“Lydia, they have werewolf hearing!” Stiles hissed, hoping against all hope that the combination of the microwave and the movie were enough to at least distract the three sets of wolf ears in the living room. 

“Hey did any of you hear what I was saying to Stiles just now?” Lydia called over her shoulder. 

“No,” Isaac responded while Scott made a confused noise. 

“See? Now, what are you going to do about your situation?” 

“Lydia, there is no situation, and there’s no way I’m going to do anything, especially not anything you suggest I do.” Stiles turned back to the microwave to rescue the bag of popcorn that had finished, and pop another in. One was never enough when you were sitting in between werewolves. 

“I’d say that there’s a situation. There’s major chemistry between you two, which I’m sure Scott would notice if he were at all clued in to romantic tension.”

“There’s no chemistry, there’s no tension.” He leaned closer and whispered, “We’re roommates now, Lydia. Roommates, friends, definitely not a situation.” 

That last statement was one that Stiles came to regret when a week later, after Derek had left to go grocery shopping, Stiles had to call Lydia. 

“It might be a situation.” 

“Well, well, well. Stiles Stilinski admitting he’s wrong?” 

“Tease me about this later, but I’m serious right now.” 

“Okay, I’m listening.” 

Stiles sighed through his nose and gripped the phone a little tighter. “So there was a moment after the movie night and I was kinda still weirded out about your comment so I decided to ignore it, but he like smiled at me or something and made a comment about how he was glad we’re friends. I think he overheard us in the kitchen, and he was glad I was willing to say we were more than roommates? I’m not sure. But then the next day he did that thing where he came up behind me and reached into the cupboard overhead to get some coffee, and I swear to god I had to take a cold shower.” 

“Is that it? A smile and some--” 

“I’m so not even done Lydia. It’s little things, but he keeps putting his hand on my side to reach for something, or touching my hands when he takes pots and pans from me, and he bought my favorite cereal even though he says it’s just pure sugar.” 

“Sounds like he’s courting you.” 

“You need to stop enjoying this so much.” Too late, because Lydia was already laughing on the other end of the line. “I’m serious, what do I do?” 

“Well, Stiles, do you think he’s attractive?” 

“You know I do.” 

“Do you think you’d like to date him?” 

“I don’t know, we live together now, isn’t this a little backwards?” 

“Does it feel nice to live somewhere and with someone who doesn’t question your every move?” 

That one got Stiles. He fell quiet, zoning out while Lydia gave him what was probably some really good advice. It was true; he was so comfortable here at Derek’s that he hadn’t even realized them settling into a routine. They made each other coffee, and remember each other’s preferences when grocery shopping. Hell, Stiles now knew what kind of laundry detergent was best for Derek’s enhanced sense of smell. He hadn’t realized just how much living with his dad while his dad was so distrustful of him was wearing him down. 

“Stiles? Earth to Stiles, come back to me.” 

“Oh, sorry.” 

“It’s all right. Clearly you’ve got somebody on your mind.” 

“I take it back, I’m not sorry.” 

“You will be if you don’t make a move though.” 

“Can’t I just let him make a move? Isn’t that what he’s basically doing?” 

“Stiles you can’t just let him do everything, you have to at least reciprocate.” 

“So what should I do?” 

“Kiss him on the cheek, tell him you think he’s hot, wait naked for him in his bed. I don’t know.” 

“Thanks for your help,” Stiles responded, half sarcastically and half serious. “Crap, I think he’s home.” 

“You can probably get at least your pants off before he opens the door!” Stiles may or may not have hung up on her for that comment. Quickly, Stiles grabbed the book he’d been reading earlier that afternoon and pretended to casually look up at Derek as he came in through the door. 

“Hey,” they said in unison. Which wasn’t unusual. But now Stiles was very conscious of it. 

“So I was thinking for dinner we could check out that new Indian place that opened a block away,” Derek said, setting the grocery bags on the counter. 

“That sounds cool, what time?” 

“Well I kind of already made a reservation for seven because they look busy at lunch; seems everybody wants to try them out.” 

Stiles checked his phone and nodded. “Cool, I’ll just grab my shoes real fast.” 

“Actually, it turns out it’s kind of a nicer place. Jeans should be fine, but do you have something...not a t-shirt?” 

Raising an eyebrow, Stiles looked Derek up and down to realize he was wearing a button-down shirt. He didn’t realize Derek even owned a nice shirt. 

“I totally do, but what do you mean it’s nicer? If jeans are fine, jeans are fine with anything right?” 

“Stiles.” 

“I’m going, I’m going.” Ten minutes later (Stiles had also decided to comb his hair and put some gel in it) he met Derek by the front door. 

 

“Not bad,” Derek said and Stiles rolled his eyes at him. “No really, you look good.” 

“Not as good as that aloo chana is going to.” 

Stiles and Derek were midway through their meal, arguing over the ending of Jane Eyre, when Stiles realized...this was a date. Suddenly the curry was a little too spicy, and there wasn’t enough water on the table, and Derek could obviously tell something was happening because he was raising his eyebrows and putting his fork down. 

“You okay there? Swallow a pepper or something? Because your heart just kicked up a notch.” 

“That loud huh?” Stiles laughed nervously. “Werewolf hearing must be hell in public, now I think about it. You can hear every chew, swallow, sneeze, cough, fart...Ugh I can’t believe I thought of fart, maybe burp would be better. No, I guess that still involves gas, and oh god the smells in public must be awful--” 

“Stiles you’re babbling. What’s up?” 

“I’m just all of a sudden nervous because I put on a shirt with a collar and Lydia made a joke about getting pants off and I just realized that this is a date, which means that you like me and I was just now getting used to the idea of liking you so--” 

“Slow down. Breathe.” Stiles did so. Curry was no longer too spicy, water was now sufficient. “This is why I didn’t say anything, so you wouldn’t freak out.” 

“I think you have that backwards, buddy. I’m freaking out because I didn’t know!” Stiles tried to keep his voice hushed but he winced a little bit anyways. 

“So for future reference I need to warn you if you’re on a date?” 

“Yes please!” 

“Stiles, you’re on a date.” 

Somehow, that actually worked, and Stiles was completely over the nervous fluttering of his pulse. “Is this a thing now? Are...are we a thing now?” 

“Do you want to be a thing?” Derek asked, but the small smile on his face told Stiles that somebody was feeling pretty confident about the answer he was going to get. 

“Sure, yeah, I’d like to be a thing.” 

Derek slid a hand across the table, palm up, and Stiles took it. “Then we’re a thing.”


End file.
